A/N: Okay, I'm no poison expert, so excuse me if that what I have seen in movies is it most likely is, I'm sure, but yeah...somehow I needed to save Lenya's ass. So forgive me my medical incompetence, it's just a story after all :P As for the rest, loong chapter here and quite the progress in the Lenya/Alistair development and many other little, important things as well.

I also have written a Lenya backstory part which is not kept in italics for stylistic reasons but you will recognize the part either way, I'm sure. And no, Lenya doesn't like Merrill...at all. For reasons I will explain later within her character development, ergo further backstory. So yeah.

Thanks to mackillian for the awesome beta work *hug* and all my people reading and commenting on that epic-seized story of mine. Keep being awesome, y'all ^^

*shakes fists at server which kept me from updating as planned*

Chapter 40: Not alone

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Surprised, Alistair spun around at the odd, thudding sound and his heart stopped at the sight.

"Leeeenyaaaa!" Filled with panic and dread, he instantly dropped his heavy equipment and ran all the way back her to help her, but Leliana was the first who arrived at the unconscious Dalish. Bending over her, the bard lay a hand on Lenya's forehead and frowned.

"She's burning up! She has... a fever?" Aghast, she observed the blood on Lenya's right hand, lifted it up and discovered a little, but severe cut near her abdomen that the Dalish had shielded with her palm before. The wound had penetrated through the layers of her thick leather armor, and blood still seeped from it.

Leliana examined the cut, and saw a strange liquid coming from it that wasn't blood. "Poison," she whispered, shocked, and glanced at Alistair. He stared back at her, horrified.

Hurrying to the group as well, Zevran bowed down to Lenya. "I thought so. Let me—"

The fist landing in his face sent him backward. As he hit the ground with force again, he momentarily lost his consciousness from the blow. But, the Warden who had hit him pulled him up by his collar, and shook him like a rag doll.

"What have you done to her?" Alistair screamed in his face. He was trembling with rage as he held him close, ready to land the next blow.

Zevran coughed up blood and spit it to the side, along with a tooth or two. He willed himself to come back to his senses, the searing pain in the left side of his face almost overbearing. "It wasn't me," he croaked hoarsely. "My blades weren't poisoned."

"Liar!" Alistair was about to hit him again, but a sudden magical wave knocked him back and away from the assassin.

"Fool." Morrigan's sneer at him was derisive. "Have you nothing better to do than to brawl with the one person who knows the poison while Lenya is in mortal agony?" Her head snapped to Zevran. "And you, elf, give me one good reason not to let your blood boil until it fountains high from your body."

He rubbed his aching cheek that was swollen and bruised by now. "Tsk, tsk, you are a dangerous, dangerous woman, you know that? I happen to know the poison that was used, but it was not my blade that did that to her."

"Can you—" Morrigan started saying.

"Heal her?" Zevran finished her sentence, getting up from the ground. "I'm no mage as you are, my dear, but I will try my best. This I have sworn to the Warden."

Zevran was about to move to the still unconscious Lenya, but Alistair stepped in his way again, his glare at the elf hateful. "You are not touching her! Only over my dead body!"

The elf tilted his head and observed how Leliana desperately attempted to treat the wound, and then looked back to the Warden before him. "Even over her dead body, hmm?"

He watched how Alistair's jaw worked, how it clenched and unclenched, seemingly becoming now aware of the possibility of her dying. Something appeared to break within the man at this thought, because his hateful expression suddenly changed into a pained frown. "I – I..." Biting at his lip, Alistair stepped aside, his breath heavy. "I'm watching you!" he added rashly, but the tone in his voice had lost its prior force.

Shoving Leliana aside, Zevran kneeled down to Lenya and frowned. "Not good. That sturdy woman has held out longer than anyone else I have seen before collapsing, but this also means that the poison is probably circulating in her blood already. Still, I have to try." Glancing up to the woman who watched him warily, he said, "I need fresh water, a large piece of cloth, and alcohol. Oh, and your dagger, if you would."

When Leliana still did not move from her place, Zevran sighed. "I know you don't trust me and have good reason not to. But your wonderful leader is going to die if you don't help me now and we don't want that, no?"

Reluctantly, Leliana handed him the dagger, still watching him. Her eyes widened as she saw how he cut through the buckles of her leather armor, dislodging the vest to the side. "What are you—"

"I need alcohol!" Zevran yelled and Oghren grumbled in return, handing him his flask.

"Who doesn't? Sodding elf, if Missy dies, I rip your balls off and feed them to the sodding dog!"

Ignoring the threat, Zevran opened the flask and poured most of the contents over Lenya's wound, and then took a sip himself to clean his mouth... and to soothe his nerves. The Dalish still did not move, but for the moment this circumstance was welcomed, at least the poison wouldn't spread further this way. With one swift move with the dagger, he ripped her underlay tunic in two and took one part to bind it around her abdomen, securing it with an knot. Then he widened his mouth and started to suck the remnants of the poison out of the wound.

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~V~

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Alistair couldn't watch.

Pacing back and forth, he had no idea what to do when he wanted to do something, and the feeling of helplessness was overbearing. His fellow Warden was on the verge of death, and there was nothing he could do to make it better, no enemy to kill to save her, pure powerlessness was the only thing left. And this made it even worse for him to bear.

Finally somewhat stopping, he sank down to the ground, and buried his face into his gloved hands and sighed, his breath trembling. Multifaceted questions of what if accompanied by unbidden guilt were all the sudden swarming his head and intruded on his thoughts. Why hadn't he insisted more to treat her wound when he discovered it? Maybe then it wouldn't have—

"We should set up camp."

Blinking up, he recognized the huge form of Sten, who stared back at him with an unreadable expression. He seemed to waiting for something... approval? With Lenya unconscious and hence unable to, it was he now who was in command for the rest of the group, right?

Ugh. Oh, Maker!

Nodding weakly to Sten, who instantly marched away to get their tents then, he saw how the witch was about to leave the area.

"Wait, Morrigan, where are you going?"

Stopping, she whirled round to snarl at him. "You are probably content with sitting here and mourning Lenya's fate but I have decided to actually do something."

"And this 'something' is sneaking away? Right, very helpful."

"No, you tool. Collecting herbs to lower her fever and the effect of the poison, 'tis." She turned around to move on. "I saw some of the needed herbs on the road a while ago."

"Let me help!" Alistair didn't even care how desperately pleading that sounded.

Morrigan snorted. "I doubt that you can distinguish elfroot from deathroot, so unless you want to poison Lenya further, I'll pass on your help. But why don't you help setting the tents up to make it more homely, despite the bodies lying around here? That would be helpful indeed."

"Right. Forget I asked."

She smiled coldly at him. "Believe me. Already done."

Arai was sitting at the entrance of the narrowed, long road and whined as Morrigan passed him by. Sighing, she halted. "What you flea-ridden mongrel? You want to come too?" Arai barked, as if agreeing. The witch shrugged. "Well, okay. At least you are far more bearable company than Alistair. More intelligent, too. But I warn you, do not eat the herbs I find, or your beloved mistress will not survive the night."

Arai cocked his head and whined plaintively at first, visibly pained by this thought, and then he followed her down the road.

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~V~

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Alistair had decided to help Sten and Oghren with setting up camp, if only to keep his mind and fingers occupied. Though with his hands trembling so much, his own tent didn't obey as it had before and kept collapsing in on itself. Frustrated, he kicked the tent-fabric away, swore colorfully and buried his head in his hands.

"Let me help you."

It was Leliana. She placed a supporting hand on his armored shoulder, and then she bowed down and started to put up the tent with able hands.

Alistair fixed his own huge hands with a stare, hating that they were so rough, clumsy and... simply useless, just like he felt. There was nothing he could do to help and even the simplest task seemed to elude his abilities right now, making the whole situation even more unbearable for him. Blinking up, he noticed how Leliana was nearly done with his tent.

"Thank you."

"She is strong, Alistair," she simply said, peering at his dejected posture and showing some confidence where he was unable to.

"I know… it's just... just…" Sighing, he slumped down to the ground, the feeling of having failed too overbearing. It was Ostagar all over again in his head, the same flooding of could, should, and what if's in the back of his mind was wearing him down. "I should have been faster... Killed them quicker." He sighed anew. "I don't know... something that she wouldn't—"

"Things like that happen, Alistair," Leliana interjected, her lips pressed to a thin line and well aware of the fact that her words sounded harsh. "We fight every day to survive. It is dangerous, after all."

"No, no, no." He vehemently shook his head, his expression angered. "Having to pee after hours and hours of marching is something that happens, but my fellow Warden getting injured by a poisoned blade is not, and I repeat, not a thing that should happen!" Biting on his lip, he stared out at the slowly darkening sky. "I have failed. Again."

"It is not your fault, Alistair!"

"Maybe not, but that doesn't change the fact of her, her..." His voice faltered and he swallowed hard. "I can't do that on my own..." Scoffing, Alistair looked at his tent. "I mean, I'm even unable to put up a tent on my own, so how would I ever end the Blight alone?"

"Its self-awareness does give It credit." Shale chuckled, and then tilted her stony head. "Why isn't the Clown-Knight with the Painted Warden? It could be dead soon after all. What will It do th—"

His glare at the golem was intense. "Shut up!"

"Shale." Leliana sighed."This is not helpful." Grumbling under her breath, the golem stomped away. Leliana waited until she was gone before pointing at the others. "Just look around, Alistair, you are not alone!"

"I know... but you all aren't..." He fumbled with his hands, not knowing how exactly to put it into words. "Like me... or like... her... there are things that only she can understand, you know?"

"Like the dreams?"

Alistair nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "That... and so many things we have seen in the Deep Roads. I don't know how to explain it to someone who isn't—"

"...a Grey Warden," Leliana completed his sentence and saw how he nodded anew. "So I was right, you both have grown a closer bond after all." She smiled. "Not unsurprising after what you have told me about the Deep Roads."

"No, no not in that way, Leliana!" he quickly denied and hated how helpless he was against the warmth that flushed his cheeks, unwanted. Alistair took a deep breath to calm down, looking down on his hands. "She... Lenya is the only one that is left... every other Grey Warden in Ferelden... is... gone. I don't know... I'm afraid…" He left the sentence hanging, swallowing down the words that were too bitter to vocalize. "The last thing she did was to yell at me... or I at her, for that matter. I don't think I could forgive myself, if..." He stopped again, fumbling with his hands in the futile attempt to control the emotions associated with his words.

Leliana waited for him to go on, momentarily watched him and the interplay of pain and remorse in his expression that he desperately was trying to hide. As soon as she was sure that he wouldn't continue, she simply said, "I see."

At her few words, Alistair blinked up at her.

Leliana nodded encouragingly. "Go to her."

"W-what?"

"This is what you want, right? I can manage to set up the rest of the camp on my own. Sten will help me, too."

"B-but there is nothing I can do for Lenya right now. I... feel... so..." Sighing, his posture sank. "...useless."

"You can simply be there for her, for your fellow Warden, no?"

"Riiiight, I'm sure Lenya would be thrilled."

Smiling, Leliana observed how he shot up and hurried to the other side of camp, despite his contradicting words. It was all but surprising to her after all the things he had said in his drunken rambling about Lenya yesterday. Turning round to the Qunari who stoically stared out into the wideness of the horizon, she said, "Sten, let's find some decent firewood."

Sten grumbled, but nodded, and eventually followed.

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"So another fancy elf, are you?" Oghren eyed Zevran, who was still cleaning Lenya's wound, somewhat warily. "Bet your ass won't be that fancy anymore after it crosses my axe."

Zevran didn't even look up as he sighed. "So this is going to be another lecture of how I'm not to be trusted and should have been killed on sight, I take it?"

"Nope, just watching so you don't do funny things to the boss. Me and... my axe."

Reaching for the poultice to bandage her torso, Zevran smirked. "Your subtlety is stunning, my stout friend."

"Heh, I know. So don't try funny things... or rather, I wish you would. As does my axe. "

"Is this the point where we are going to rekindle the old dwarf-elf rivalry?"

Oghren shrugged. "Naah. As long you don't kill Missy, we're good."

Zevran chuckled, his tone slightly sarcastic. "I'm so relieved to hear I have at least one friend here."

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~V~

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Alistair didn't know what was worse.

Seeing Lenya lying there still unconscious on the ground, Oghren as her only... guardian or that... assassin bended over her almost naked upper body, treating her wound. As his anger flared at the sight of Zevran, he quickly settled for the latter option.

He glared at the elf. "Hands off."

Zevran raised an eyebrow, the one that wasn't bruised and swollen from Alistair's blow, at that. "You are well aware of the fact that I'm still treating her injury, yes?"

"Poisoning her more, you mean." Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Lenya should have never spared you. If she—"

"This again?" Zevran shrugged, but inched away from the Dalish. "I thought we already covered that topic when you hit me with your fist. It wasn't my blades that poisoned her." Looking up to him, he pointed at a human male corpse nearby. "Calo, however, loved poison. Until your lovely girlfriend obviously ended this obsession, no? Go and see his blades if you don't believe me."

Oghren walked over to the body, checking the daggers close to it. "Sodding bastard, he has some of that odd, dried liquid on his blades." He kicked the bloodied corpse a couple of times. "Serves him right to eat the dust now, heh."

Alistair was aware that there were many other words coming out of the elf's mouth, but he stopped registering them after a certain one. "G-girlfriend?" He gave in to the urge to blink.

"Oh. So she... isn't? My mistake, then." If the upward curling of the corner of his mouth were any indication then Zevran seemed to be pleased with this news. "Well, at any rate, the wound is cleaned for now, but needs to get stitched later when we have fire to boil up the water." He strode past Alistair, his movements fluid and confident, despite his own injuries and bruised face.

The Warden glowered after him until he vanished in between of some trees nearby. Hopefully he was gone for good now, but alas, Alistair didn't really believe it.

Alistair peered down at his fellow Warden, her face glowing with a heat that seemed to outright radiate from her body. Her forehead covered with a simple, wet cloth, she lay there, rigidly, not even panting at the high fever that was obviously plaguing her. He frowned. It almost appeared as if she was...

No.

He shook his head, willing the dreadful thought out of his mind. And yet, she was lying there, nearly framed by those bloodied corpses of the men she had killed.

It wasn't... right.

She didn't belong among them, the assassins that had tried to kill them both... her. To Alistair it was as if Lenya was sullied by their mere presence and he couldn't stand the thought. Bending down, he was about to scoop her up when a snarling voice stopped him halfway. "Don't move her, you imbecile, or else the poison will spread further." It was Morrigan who slowly ascended from a shadow that had obscured her presence before. Accompanied by Arai, the witch was carrying several green plants in her hands that Alistair had never seen before.

He glared. "Morrigan, you have returned. Why?"

The witch ignored him and bent down to the Dalish, touching her forehead. "Her fever has risen. 'Tis good that I have returned in time."

He sighed, his tone sarcastic. "Yes, I'm positively thrilled. Can you help her at least?"

Morrigan smirked, eager to make the cutting remark. "Unlike you... yes." She enjoyed his single wincing motion at her words, but it veiled too quickly again for her taste.

"So no moving her, it is, huh?" Alistair drove a sheepish hand through his hair, feeling stupid for the idea in his mind. "So we probably should try... I don't know... set up the tent around Lenya? To keep her warm and dry when the night falls, I mean."

Morrigan snorted. "Normally when your mouth opens and sound is coming from it, this is never a good thing. This must be the first time 'tis not the case. Ever."

"Right. Great, really. Don't try to be actually... I don't know... useful."

"Oh, I will, idiot. Unlike you." Dismissing him, Morrigan whirled around and strode away.

Alistair rolled his eyes at her retreating back. "You lash me with your words." Standing up, he left to rummage in his backpack. After a few minutes, the Warden returned with a woolen blanket in his hands. Spreading it over her to cover her still near half-naked form, he whispered, "I really don't understand why you are so fond of that bitch, Lenya."

Nevertheless, he hoped that Morrigan could do something against this burning fever of hers. Or else, Lenya wouldn't survive the night. Sighing, he sank down beside her, his eyes not leaving her still frame. If he could do nothing more than to simply stay at her side, then he would exactly do that.

At least it was something.

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Tamlen... why didn't I stop you? Why didn't I wake up earlier?

Lenya's heart seared with pain... an overbearing guilt that threatened to swallow her whole. Her steps echoed dully over the dusty ground of the ancient elven ruins she now wished she had never found. For hours they had already threaded along long forgotten paths deep within darkened corridors that reeked and felt so... wrong.

They searched for Tamlen but couldn't find one single sign of him; it almost was as if his existence was obliterated from the face of Thedas. Twisted monsters with twisted faces were the only creatures that waited and leaped at the small group of elves, wanting them dead, so they fought them, their spilled blood on the floor eerily black.

Another turn and her head swam with agonizing resemblance of convoluted floors she had seen before, with Tamlen... only before –

Lenya staggered, feeling weak and incredibly despondent at the memory, so she stopped, in the need of air when breathing became all but easy.

Behind her, she heard Merrill sneering with disdain, maybe frustration. Lenya couldn't say for sure, nor had she the nerves to pull up with Keeper's... darling.

"Why are you always doing such stupid, reckless things, Lenya? You are the daughter of a Keeper. When will you finally start acting like it?"

Lenya groaned, emotional pain momentarily turning into raw anger. Of course she would play this card. Merrill was too much of a predictable, condescending bitch to ever change her arguments against her, embodying everything Lenya loathed. At least her comment offered the needed distraction for her to focus again. Even if it was only on her hostility toward her clan member, which was definitely... mutual.

"Maybe you can teach me, Merrill. Sticking your head into the elders' asses is your specialty after all."

She saw the answer lingering on Merrill's tongue while glaring at her, maybe a lecture about duty or rules the keeper's apprentice was so keen on and Lenya couldn't care less about, but the appalled look of Fenarel stayed her words. First Lenya thought that he was reacting so strongly about them arguing like he normally did in this case, but turning she saw that the approaching horde of those twisted monsters was the reason.

Lenya focused to warp her anger toward them and as they started to charge, she was ready as well, her daggers raised to slice. There was a fiery burn seething inside of her that she couldn't explain, but it ached at her very being, down to her soul within. She only knew that she loathed this feeling, so she vented her rancor at their rotten bodies, her blades tearing them apart... and it felt good.

~V~

She hated that shemlen with all her being.

They found him standing within the room that wanted her to break down and whimper incoherently, because the lingering taste of her mistakes was too painfully apparent here. Her chest constricted until it became impossible to breathe. The small hope to find Tamlen here had clawed on in the back of Lenya's mind and kept her from falling apart shattered along with the myriads of shards of the mirror that ruined and marked her life forever.

And all that would be left was pain.

So in a way, Lenya was, in all its contrariness, thankful for the Warden shemlen standing there and telling her that Tamlen was lost forever. The unrestrained hatred she felt at those words made it possible for her to push aside the glaring truth of it, to refuse and search on.

"I could help you, Lenya. I don't want to give up yet, either," said Fenarel.

While Merrill made no deal big out of the fact that she believed the human's words and turned with one last reproachful glance at Lenya to leave, Fenarel remained at her side.

Oh, Fenarel...

Lenya's friendship with him had never been so close like it was with Tamlen, but she was never more grateful for his support than in this moment. It was like an anchor mooring her against the certainty of the loss of Tamlen, giving her new hope, as futile it might have been. And so they searched on, calling his name over and over again, and it echoed at the hollow edges of the ruin, still unheard.

Growing more and more desperate as her voice became hoarse from calling his name for so long and still not finding a single clue of his whereabouts, Lenya staggered. Hopelessness tugged at her consciousness all of the sudden, combined with the surge of guilt and bitter realization of 'he is not here,' it was a mixture that brought her to her knees, making her sob uncontrollably.

Tamlen had once saved her from a terrifying cat that scratched her cheek when she was a little girl, more often even saved her from herself, but most importantly, he always had been there for her when needed. And she? She failed to do the same for him, even one single time. It was a bitter truth within her mind now while her tears wouldn't stop falling, mixing up with the dust on the ground.

She had failed him.

Tamlen had been the one to touch the mirror in the end, but she had failed to stop him.

Failed him, when she was most needed.

If only I would have listened to you, instead of heading eagerly into the ruins.

If only I could see you again.

Emma ir abalas, lethallin.

Tamlen... where are you?

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Beneath his fingers that changed the damp cloth on her forehead, Lenya stirred.

It was more like a whimper that issued from her throat and only fleeting... but still more than he had heard from her since one whole agonizing day of waiting and hoping. Alistair couldn't suppress a frown at the strangled, near pained sound of that, and placed another, colder cloth on her burning forehead, the fever still flaring within her. Despite the high fever her skin was strangely pale in the shimmering moonlight that radiated through the crack of the canvas, the sweaty trenches in her blonde hair even darker in comparison.

Alistair's gaze lasted on her, momentarily startled at how much seeing her like this reminded him on Ostagar, where she had been sick with fever due to the taint, instead of poison. He shook his head at that thought, reminding himself that the taint was a poison itself... in a way. And yet had his world been whole back then with people accepting him simply as Alistair and not the king's secret and unwanted bastard. They even called him brother. Those people were all gone, lost to Loghain's treachery, and with them, a place for him to belong. Lenya was now all that he had left from that place and happier times, and yet... she didn't belong to him. The tainted blood in their veins was often the only thing they had in common.

If Alistair was honest, he shouldn't be here in her tent, and yet he couldn't imagine a place he would rather be. The presence of her, his fellow and only other Warden, was strangely soothing.

Watching, he was pleased at the slowly calming down intervals of her breathing after her throwing around, and he fought the odd desire to reach out to her and touch the heated skin of her face with his hand.

"Don't leave me alone, Lenya, I can't do this without you!"

Without noticing at first, he gave in to this urge, his calloused finger tracing lightly along the line of her jaw, marveling at its softness.

Realizing his impulse, he blinked and quickly wanted to withdraw his hand, but another one stopped this intent, snatching and clawing at his hand before he could pull away.

Her hand.

"L-Lenya?" he managed to say and observed how her eyes fluttered open, looking back at him with a strange—warm—expression. His breath caught in his throat and he reflexively stiffened as her hand, her fingers, that were calloused like his own and yet so soft, touched his cheek. Caught between utter confusion and the wish to call out to her again, he remained still, even leaning in to the touch despite himself, seeking the radiating heat of her palm.

She smiled, seemingly overjoyed to see him, which amused him even more, until she uttered a name that wasn't his own. "Tamlen."

Alistair wanted to object, but then there were her arms slung around him all the sudden and his head swam with her proximity, leaving him breathless in her crushing embrace. A few moments passed like hours in a total stillness, except for his heart that hammered so furiously in his chest that he was scared she could feel it. And there was the warmth, such heat that emanated from her feverish skin over to him and through his woolen tunic, completely surrounding him.

Lenya whispered words he didn't understand in his ear, her breath hot against his skin. He surmised it was Elvish that she spoke intermittently with a relieved, tearless sob and every time there was but one name audibly uttered by her.

Tamlen.

Although he didn't speak her language, this name made it obvious to him that she saw him as this person, perhaps a waking fever dream that held her captive within. Alistair took her hand as she started to trace tattooed lines in his face that weren't there and put it down. He felt admittedly a bit sorry about the loss of her warmth as he pulled away, but it was the right thing to do. Even if a part of him hated to do the right thing just now.

"Listen, Lenya. I'm not Tamlen... I'm Alistair, your fellow Warden."

She blinked, confused at that, her green eyes glossy and disbelieving at those words.

"Na'dar Tamlen, ma'din Alistair! Din'dirth! Emma ir souveri suledin dar elvarel'u." Her vehement voice broke to a whisper, one single tear streamed down her cheek as she said, "Ma isala, Tam—" *

Before Lenya could finish her sentence, she lost consciousness again, and her head lolled forward to rest against Alistair's chest. He remained momentarily frozen in place, frowning. He didn't understand a single word of what she had said, but its tone had been so... desperate, so lost, that his heart ached at the sound of it.

Whoever this Tamlen was, he was important to her.

Cautiously, he repositioned Lenya on her bedroll, spreading the blanket over her and couldn't help but to wipe the remains of the tear from her cheek. His finger lingered a moment longer than needed on her face, on those lines that were still contorted with pain, but slowly easing again.

Standing up, he was slightly aware of how his own cheeks glowed in a fiery red, how his head swam with her lingering warmth and new questions. And yet, it was all too overshadowed with his concern for her as he reluctantly left her side to sort out his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Lenya."

Sorry that he wasn't the person she thought he was.

And somehow this thought was painful for him to realize, even if he couldn't exactly grasp why.

Elvish note:

Na'dar Tamlen, ma'din Alistair! Din'dirth! Emma ir souveri suledin dar elvarel'u. Ma isala Tam - "Your name is Tamlen, not Alistair, so stop talking. I'm so weary to endure this everlasting loneliness. I need you, Tam(len).

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